


Small Mercies

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck
Genre: A Letter From Home, Character Study, Family Feels, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: The early mornings and late nights when the triplets came back from their adventures with Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald were the most peaceful hours they could recall. Uncle Donald would trail behind them as they followed Uncle Scrooge up the hill to the Money Bin in near total darkness. Uncle Donald’s shoulders wouldn’t relax until they were all safely inside, allowing himself to tear his eyes away from them when the high security door closed. He’d throw his hat on a nearby table in Scrooge’s living room and promptly collapse on the couch, snoring within seconds.They would wander into the kitchen, where Uncle Scrooge would be rummaging around in the cupboards. If it was morning, he’d start measuring oats for porridge. Otherwise the scent of store-bought frozen pizza heating up in the oven would reach them in the hallway.This time was different.





	Small Mercies

The early mornings and late nights when the triplets came back from their adventures with Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald were the most peaceful hours they could recall. Uncle Donald would trail behind them as they followed Uncle Scrooge up the hill to the Money Bin in near total darkness. Uncle Donald’s shoulders wouldn’t relax until they were all safely inside, allowing himself to tear his eyes away from them when the high security door closed. He’d throw his hat on a nearby table in Scrooge’s living room and promptly collapse on the couch, snoring within seconds.

They would wander into the kitchen, where Uncle Scrooge would be rummaging around in the cupboards. If it was morning, he’d start measuring oats for porridge. Otherwise the scent of store-bought frozen pizza heating up in the oven would reach them in the hallway.

This time was different.

The scent of the moors and echoes of the sort of music that happens when you involve bagpipes and singing still lingered in the triplets’ minds as they turned towards the kitchen in Uncle Scrooge’s private quarters.

Donald was still in the living room, but they could hear him humming a simple song their Aunt Mathilda had hummed as she re-potted flowers. She’d given them a large book on the McDuck clan, filled with information and pressed daisies and thistles. Uncle Scrooge had pointed out family members on the plane ride home, memorizing about his own Uncle Jacob and tracing his parents’ names when he thought they were distracted. He’d also held onto the scratched old tin of boot polish that Aunt Mathilda had handed over when they were saying goodbye, looking at it like it held a treasured memory instead of dried gunk. Uncle Donald had been silent when Scrooge had talked about their relatives, only glancing at the book and listening.

“My mother always did it this way,” Uncle Scrooge said, gesturing to a pot on the stove as they arrived he in the kitchen. Uncle Scrooge began stirring the porridge clockwise with the wooden spoon, moving aside so they could see his demonstration. “Of course, we couldn’t afford anything else for breakfast. But you learned to like it.”

The scent of nutmeg tea filled the air as Scrooge poured himself a cup. The porridge was bubbling.

“Uncle Donald makes it like this too,” Huey offered, climbing up a little ladder so he could reach the cupboard that held the bowls. “Maybe he learned it from Grandma Hortense?”

Scrooge nodded, stirring the porridge.

Louie and Dewey collected the spoons and found a carton of orange juice in the fridge.

“He does the dishes just like Hortense used to do too,” Scrooge had said, turning off the heat. He spooned the porridge into five bowls, leaving one steaming on the counter for Donald in the absent-minded way they’d seen him glance back at them during their adventures, a habit so ingrained that he no longer noticed himself doing it. “Water and soap everywhere, but at least everything is clean.”

They boys sprinkled sugar over their porridge as Scrooge sat down.

Uncle Scrooge leaned back in his chair, taking a long sip of his tea. During their adventures, he’d bring coffee and black tea and juice for them, remarking that he kept this kind at home so he could look forward to his first cup.

“The lad must be glad that he managed to get me and Mathilda to settle our differences,” Scrooge muttered, putting the cup down as the ducklings began shoveling hot porridge into their beaks. “We all like to have a good safety-net when the midden hits the windmill.”

The triplets stared at Uncle Scrooge, who was looking into his teacup as if it contained all of the world’s answers. The tin of polish looked even more shabby beside the fine porcelain saucer on the table.

They had repeatedly come home early from a Junior Woodchucks’ camping trip to find Uncle Donald riffling through the paper, looking for a new job or shoving small change into piggy banks to be hidden underneath the floorboards. Uncle Donald had always flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut and made hurried excuses.

“It hits the windmill all the time for Uncle Donald,” Louie said, stirring his porridge.

“Don’t I know it,” Scrooge said, shaking his head.

Uncle Scrooge owned their house. How else could someone like their Uncle Donald, who struggled with keeping down a job for longer than just a single day, afford a two-story house with a good garden?

It wasn‘t as if Uncle Scrooge showed up at their house with groceries, but when they all came home from one of their long adventures there would always be a metal bin full of wheat, a bag of potatoes and a few canned tomatoes in the cupboards. And they always had the ingredients to make porridge stowed away somewhere. They never seemed to run out, even if they ate it every morning. Uncle Donald never bought any of the ingredients, just stared at the five huge sacks of steel-cut oats that lived in the cupboards and muttered something about not having to worry about breakfast. He didn’t mention that it was the same brand that Uncle Scrooge had in his own cupboards up in the money bin. He also didn’t mention the blue, red and green clothes that showed up in the hallway closet, neatly folded and in the right sizes and style but without price tags.

Grandma Duck would send them care packages and Daisy sometimes baked a cake for them in the kitchen when Uncle Donald had a late shift in the margarine factory. Even Gladstone gave them toys if he won them in a raffle.

But it was Uncle Scrooge who handed over raincoats and boots and parkas when they were on adventures, who shooed them all downstairs when the adventure was on the verge of being too tiring or too much like back-breaking physical work. They’d go rest, changing into the pajamas Uncle Donald had packed alongside their sheets and pillows. On the way home from the airport, Uncle Donald had wrapped them all up in the old tartan blanket that lived in the boot of his car.

“Sometimes I wonder if we could help Uncle Donald out,” Huey said, scraping the bottom of his bowl. “Delivering newspapers in the morning, or something.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, lads,” Uncle Scrooge said gently. He picked up the jar of polish and spun it around, the metal gleaming in his hands. “And besides, there has been enough child labor in this family. Understood?”

“Yes, Uncle Scrooge,” they said in unison.

They listened to the noise level outside rise as dawn broke and began washing the dishes. Uncle Donald would wake up soon, and they’d pick up their suitcases and head back home. Uncle Donald would most likely burn some part of his body by spilling hot porridge on it before they left.

Uncle Scrooge always hired Uncle Donald again, always dragged him along on the next adventure. And the ducklings followed the both, all over the world.

But for now, they watched as Uncle Scrooge wandered off to check all his security measures were still in-tact and scrubbed the bowls and the spoons, leaving the pot to soak.

There would be another adventure. There was always another adventure on the horizon when Uncle Scrooge was around.


End file.
